Noir
by List-Me-The-Reasons
Summary: Multiple AUs. A familiar feeling stirred within him the moment his eyes fell upon the body sprawled across the floor, lying helplessly atop a pool of deep red in the most macabre way. As his eyes trailed up from the body to the one responsible, he knew exactly what this emotion was. That feeling was what he knew to be an unstoppable, overwhelming, soul-blackening rage.
1. Prologue

Title: Noir

Warning for: Murder, sexual themes, time-hopping/universe-traveling confusion, torture (of mental and physical), implied non-con, and suicide attempt.

Pairing: Laven, implied later Yullen and Poker Pair, and other hinted (or not) homo/heterosexual relationships here and there.

-l'obscurité totale-

Prologue: A Doomed Timeline

-...-

_Outside of the broken-down building, lightning cracked across the sky in a white flash that briefly illuminated the room of three through a window with shattered glass. Two figures stood parallel each other with knives in their hands that glinted in what little lighting there was in that moment, and the third laid on the ground, unmoving. Thunder followed the flash of light and the sound shook the deteriorating structure, the sound of lightning's follow-up filling the unbroken silence._

_The heavy rain poured on, while the thunder and lightning continued to go on separately in their seemingly never-ending pattern of one first, then the other._

_In another flash of light, the blood dripping from the knife, revealed._

_A phone dangling from its cord._

_And in that darkness, a belated message, received._

_A lover lost forever._

"Hey Lavi! I don't know if you're getting this message, but... um, anyways, I wanted to talk about our conversation from earlier!"

_A voice never to be heard again._

"Yeah, all of this is pretty crazy, I know. I find it hard to believe this stuff about time-traveling, alternate worlds where you and I are together..."

_A promise of forever, broken._

"But I believe we can do it."

_A pause._

"I was wondering, actually, if you wanted to talk sometime? Maybe... we could meet up, and talk about things. Get what we need to say, said, right?"

_A nervous laugh._

_His last laugh._

"It doesn't have to be a date or anything! I mean, if you want it to be, it can..."

_The silhouette lurking in the shadows and drenched in the blood of his victim looks up from the body at long last, eyes void of life and lacking sympathy for anyone in this moment. He hears the message, understands what it means to the other, but doesn't care for such things._

_He never has._

"Well, that's up for you to decide. Call me back, okay?..."

_..._

"I'll be waiting."

_..._

_..._

_The late arrival moved at long last, raising his own weapon instinctively in front him. A familiar feeling had stirred within him the moment his eyes had fallen upon the body sprawled across the floor, lying helplessly atop a pool of deep red in the most macabre way. As his eyes trailed up from the body to the one responsible, he knew exactly what this emotion was. _

_That feeling was what he knew to be an unstoppable, overwhelming, soul-blackening rage._

_And he was sure as hell going to make that bastard pay for what he'd done. Whether it was in this life or the next..._

_He would definitely, certainly, absolutely..._

_Make. Him. _**Pay.**

-...-

-l'obscurité totale-

...

Okay, you guys have no idea how excited I am for this fic! I've always wanted to try a fic of this atmosphere, but I never had the guts to do so! If you could be kind as to spare some time for feedback, that would be much appreciated. I want to know what you guys think so I can figure out how much time to spend on this. I promise not to abandon this fic, but the speed of updates may depend on my priorities.

(On another note, I wish everyone a Happy New Years!)


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Chapter one! Since last chapter's POV was strange, we'll see a bit of Allen's perspective today. I'm sorry for any confusion, but if you look at the title of the prologue (click the back button if necessary), you might get an idea of what's going on. Things will be a little messy with universe-hopping (but that's later) so let me know if you ever get confused.

**Warning** for sexual content and underaged drinking/relationship. I will have to say in advance that the relationship is purely sexual and with one-sided slight romantic feelings. Takes place somewhere in Europe, so laws are different over there, mind you.

-l'obscurité totale-

Silk covers outlined the form of two bodies on the double bed, chests rising and falling peacefully in their slumber. In the darkness, one could make out the strong arm wrapped around the midsection of the smaller figure, whose back faced his partner. The digital clock beside the bed glowed a light green, the numbers revealing the time to be around three in the morning. The curtains were closed to shut out light that would later filter inside, the window locked to block out noises from the busy city but failing to soundproof the room from equally_ busy _neighbors from below.

The smaller figure stirred, his sleep disturbed by the arm that pulled him closer. He frowned and rubbed his eyes tiredly, giving the clock an owlish stare before turning his attention to the other man in the room. He didn't give the man a second glance, and quietly slid out of his bed. His head was aching with a persistent throb, a throb that must have come on from the alcohol he'd been offered the previous night at the bar, but shouldn't have accepted because he hadn't even come there to drink.

Well, he hadn't exactly come there to be accosted by a charming acquaintance of his custodian either.

His feet sank into the soft carpet of the floor, endlessly long and smooth legs standing straight. The young man stretched his arms and stiffened when he felt a different type of ache coming from the lower portion of his body. With a wince, he attempted to walk without limping, and headed towards the bathroom to wash himself off. Perhaps he shouldn't enter anymore bars from now on. The outcome of doing so always resulted with this sort of dilemma; being unable to move about normally and with a godawful hangover.

It wasn't a habit of his to sleep around and to drink the night away. No, that was his guardian. But having been raised by a man who partook in such activities, it was only expected that he would be influenced in such a way. As a maturing "young adult" as he liked to call himself, he should be appalled by his own behavior. The only reason he _wasn't_ was due to his previously mentioned upbringing. As long as his sexual life remained known by only him, and those who he... interacted with, then it was fine by him. In other words, he was okay with this part of his life as long as he wasn't like his custodian.

Quietly turning the knob on the bathroom door, he entered the small space and closed said door behind him. He first flipped on the light switch first so he wasn't in total darkness. His feet made little noise on the marble tiles as he moved about the area in search of a clean towel and a decent scented body wash. The wooden cabinet in the corner contained the aforementioned products and he sifted through the surprisingly vast collection provided.

The top shelf consisted of a few small boxes that contained bars of soap, a collection of eau de cologne from some distinguished line that seemed to be popular amongst more mature men, and then prescribed medicine that came in an orange and white bottle. Below the top shelf was a stack of white towels, one of which he took for himself, and then beside the stack were types of body washes and shampoos. Either his partner for the night switched his scents according to his mood, or he enjoyed gathering bath products.

Looking at the pink "strawberry champagne" scented shampoo (seriously, how distasteful was that?) he considered that perhaps the man was prepared to have the extended company of women in his fancy little penthouse.

As he was in a bit of a hurry to leave, the young man snatched a couple random bottles and rushed into the shower stall. He set them down at his feet, leaving the towel outside so it would remain warm and dry. Water rained down on him shortly enough, steam instantly rising and fogging glass. He turned the heat down a notch to avoid scalding his skin.

By now, partners would wake up and join him where he was, but he didn't have time for that today. Should his partner appear, he was prepared to shove him out and barricade the door. He had used up more than enough of his "free time" and had an irritable guardian waiting for him back home. Needless to say, he wasn't looking forward to that confrontation. Hopefully, the man wouldn't even be awake at this hour or better yet, not even in their home. His custodian had a tendency to go out randomly for midnight "playtime."

After a few minutes of his rushed shower, he felt adequately washed. The shower head ceased bringing down the hot water and he grasped for the towel the moment he exited the cubicle. His hair dripped while he dried himself, creating little splashes on the marble tiling. He paid no mind to it and when he was satisfied with his state, he wiped up the spots so they wouldn't have to dry on their own. It would be rude to leave a mess on his way out.

The bath products were returned to their original spots and the towel tossed lightly into the hamper. Switching off the lights, he creaked the door open and peeked out into the bedroom. His clothes were folded neatly on the now made bed with the previous covers replaced, and he grimaced. It looked like the man was up, but he didn't spot him here. The man must have left the room to go to the kitchen down the hall.

Ah, oh well. It looked like he was going to be further delayed in his departure. At this point he would be unable to leave without saying anything. He let out a sigh but relaxed now that he didn't have to worry about absconding into the night.

His hair was damp and he didn't exactly want to risk ruining his clothes, so he at the very least put on his boxers. Thank god he had taken off everything before they'd stumbled into bed. He didn't know what he would do had they been dirtied.

He felt indecent dressed in minimal clothing, but he had no desire to borrow clothing nor was he about to use his own. To pass the time, he exited the bedroom to enter the hall. The entire penthouse was dimly lit save for the sitting room. Like an insect drawn to a bright light, he wandered down to where he was certain his bed partner would be. Before entering, he knocked outside the room and waited for a response. Just in case the man wasn't ready.

A tired voice answered him, tired instead of grouchy as he thought he might be. They had both drank quite a bit the other day and were both bound to be suffering the horrible aftermath of alcohol consumption.

"Yeah sweetheart?"

A muscle twitched in his face at the nickname that just about every other older companion seemed to give him. The temptation to shout that he wasn't this man's "sweetheart" was nagging at him, but the young man refrained from losing his control.

"I was wondering if it was alright to come in," he answered calmly. He heard a shifting from the couch the man was most likely lounging on, and was given a more _awake _reply in response to his curiosity. He moved around the corner and saw the flat screen television hung up on the wall playing a re-run of a hit show. The lamp was on in the corner, the light expanding across the large room to stretch over to where the other man sat on the couch that faced away from the entrance to the contemporary-styled sitting room.

The man turned his head to appraise the freshly-showered figure of the "sweetheart" he had slept with.

He didn't have any preference for partners. As long as they knew how to have a bit of fun, anyone was fine in his opinion. The young man before him however was different from his previous choices thus far, and not only personality-wise. Snow white hair was cut short but fashionably, framing the delicate features on his face quite nicely. Silver orbs gazed at him benevolently with a hint of a smile on lips that he knew to be smooth. A scar, the only flaw on the otherwise perfect face, ran down the left side of his face and over his eye.

It wasn't much of a deal, but it gave the young man an exotic appearance. Along the left side, his arm was burned from an accident with his adoptive father. He remembered hearing about the incident from his colleague; the poor child had survived, but had been scarred for life by what he had seen.

Other than his odd (yet somehow appealing) appearance, the young man looked like any other person. He tried not to discriminate.

"The door is open, isn't it?" he teased and returned to watching his show.

A small chuckle from behind lifted the drowsy mood to a light one. He was about to speak again when arms wrapped around him in a fast embrace, lips pressing against his forehead affectionately. It would be nice to have someone like this person as a permanent addition to his life, but he was afraid he was a bit too... young for comfort.

Not that the age factor stopped either of them last night.

"I called your guardian, by the way," he mentioned as the young man moved around the couch to sit beside him. His arm went around the guest's shoulders to pull him closer, a familiar scent hitting his nose the moment he brought the other closer. "Oh, I see you used the new shampoo I bought. I thought you'd like one of the other ones, Allen."

Allen's eyes twinkled mischievously at him from below.

"I was in a hurry to go. You know the old man is going to kill me, right?"

He shrugged nonchalantly as the conversation steered back over to the man known as Cross Marian, Allen's custodian since the accident. He would rather talk about other things, but as the man was terrifying, he supposed it'd be best to discuss him first.

"He'll come to pick you up from here in a while. He said that he was waiting for you or something. I never thought of him as a concerned parental figure, but I guess that's what happens when you start looking after kids," he said lightly and added to the side in a mutter, "you get soft. I'm not sure if that's good, taking his _profession_ into account..."

"Dear lord, I can't believe you invited _him _over," Allen groaned in an interruption. He didn't hear the last part, having been focused on the important details. "Do you have any idea how bad it would be to find out your coworker shagging your kid?" The older male winced at the white-haired guest's choice of words but allowed him to continue. "I bet the room still smells like sex, too. He's going to pick up on that straight away- I should go, really-"

He cut into Allen's interruption in hopes of calming him down.

He wasn't sure how well that was about to go over, though.

"No, you're not going anywhere," he rolled his eyes and stopped the younger male from standing up and doing something drastic like jumping out the window. "I told him that you were helping me off some frustrating _work-_" Allen's tense expression faded as his face broke out into a smile, failing to hide his amusement "- and that you just sort of fell asleep at my place. Yeah, I know, real mature, right?" He sighed and let out a small laugh himself. "It's somewhat true though, so I'm not exactly lying."

With that done and over with, the pair settled into a comfortable silence. His hands wandered over to the other's body, running over smooth skin and allowing knees to straddle his legs. The younger male was over him, his own hands cupping the sides of his dark-skinned face, leaning in to kiss. He held onto the hips that were barely concealed by his clothing, holding him in place while he reciprocated the kiss from the younger male.

They had done this a few times in the past, where this young man would come over and they would do their thing. Most times he needed to leave early so there was no chance of a sloppy morning make-out, but today was different. The kisses weren't sloppy though; they were tender and passionate.

Like he said. When he was with this person, things were just... different. Everything was.

In a pleasant way.

He wasn't sure how long they were like that. Time seemed to fly by when he was with Allen. But during an interval when things were getting frisky, they were cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing. They both jumped and Allen scrambled to get up, rushing out to get dressed. He sat their for a moment, dazed, but eventually stood up at the never-ending ringing of the doorbell.

Passing by his own room, he saw that Allen was almost ready, dressed in a white button down shirt with a vest and black pants that made his slender legs look thinner than they already were. His signature red ribbon was being tied on, his casual boots laced up in that short time. He rushed out of the room and went to the kitchen to grab a quick glass of water. He wondered how the kid had changed so fast, but fear was a certain motivator. That, and he wasn't exactly hurrying to get the door, rather he was shuffling around in his usual white button down shirt and dark jeans. While his on/off partner dressed like a gentleman all of the time, he didn't care about how he looked as long as he wasn't labeled "disaster."

Unlocking the door, he was greeted by the face of his colleague. Long red hair like a lion's mane was the first thing he saw. The man was tall and with an imposing figure, his one eye narrowed visibly and his other concealed by both his hair, and a black eye patch from some accident he refused to discuss with anyone. Red stubble was present on his chin, and for a second the man resembled a pirate. The owner of the apartment felt the corner of his mouth nearly twitch upwards at the thought. Too bad his black hat didn't fit the part. The man wore a long black coat with gold trimmings, the length of the material going down to his feet.

He didn't know what the hell to think of the man's outfit. Maybe "shady" could describe him.

The cigarette hanging out of the man's mouth moved as he spoke. "Is he ready to go?"

And by _he_, the man meant Allen.

"Yeah, kid's just a bit tired," he answered and moved aside to let said kid's guardian inside. "Do you want a drink?"

Of course he knew what the answer was going to be, but he was only asking out of common courtesy.

The man grunted and proceeded into the living room. The host followed after but stopped in the kitchen where Allen was filling a glass of water. He stepped in and tapped the young man on the shoulder. "Bring out three glasses and a bottle of wine. Any year is fine."

Allen nodded. "Do you want a certain brand?"

He considered it, but no matter what he chose, nothing would matter. He didn't have Cross's favorite brand anyways. "Nah, any bottle should do."

"Okay," Allen put down the glass of water and smiled. He opened the cupboard above for the simple wine glasses and placed them on the marble counter below. He then crouched down to peer into where the alcohol may be, and finding that there was indeed alcohol, he fully opened the cabinet to pick out a random bottle. "Did someone else come in?" he asked with a glance at the third glass sitting on the counter beside his water.

"No."

The white-haired young man paused, frowning as he looked back and forth between the third glass, to the bottle of wine in his hands, and then to the dark-skinned man standing in the doorway patiently. "Wait, you don't mean?..."

He sighed, running a hand through his dark and curly hair before he leaned in so that they wouldn't be overheard by their other guest.

"Hey, you've done it before, haven't you?" he nudged Allen's side and grabbed a random bottle, closing the cabinet below with his foot and taking the three glasses from the counter. "It shouldn't be a problem."

"But _he_ doesn't know that," Allen hissed at him lowly. "Now give me that-"

The shorter male grabbed for the third wine glass but it was moved out of his reach.

"Seriously, he shouldn't care..." he tried to assure the other.

_"Tyki!_"

Steps in the hallway alerted them to lower their voices. In their scramble, Allen snatched the third glass and put it back where it belonged. He shot a smug look at the elder man, who scowled back at him. Cross Marian stopped in front of the kitchen to see what the fuss about, and saw the end of their little standoff.

The man raised his eyebrows at them, silently demanding to know what was happening in a threatening sort of way.

"Everything alright in here?" he finally dared to ask the two.

It was more of a demand that said "tell me what the hell you were just doing."

Allen wiped off his smug expression to a polite smile. "Yes, we'll be there in a moment."

Satisfied with just those words, Cross nodded and retreated back into the living room. The two ceased their tomfoolery and resumed what they were doing. Tyki reached back into the cabinets for the third glass. Allen glared at him but didn't say anything as he followed after, entering the gathering room where the television continued to play its recorded re-run of whatever had been on before. Knowing Cross would want to sit by himself on the couch, Tyki took a seat on the plush armchair on the other side, angled so that the TV was still visible with a turn of the head to the side.

The glasses of wine were set down on the glass coffee table between his chair and the couch, and Allen moved to fill each glass appropriately despite not wanting to drink with them. Cross was fast to take note of the third glass and looked to Tyki for an explanation while his charge set the bottle of wine on the table, leaving the two adults to themselves.

Moments later, the sound of the washing machine going off could be heard and the host cringed internally. That wasn't suspicious at all.

"I was hoping he would join us," Tyki admitted nervously when he was certain Allen wouldn't come back. "He's of age, isn't he?"

"More or less," Cross answered. The glass of wine was already in his hands and he was sampling it with the first taste. He gave a slow nod. "Not bad," he said. He cleared his throat and returned to the other subject, only to change it again moments later. "Anyways, I'm not sure if I would let him drink, but that's not what I came here to discuss with you."

Tyki picked up his own drink, his interest piqued. He shouldn't be drinking at this time in the morning, but a few sips wouldn't hurt. It wasn't like one glass would affect him much anyways.

"I wasn't aware that we were going to have a conversation at this dreadful hour," he commented but resigned to the inevitable talk. He sat up straight whereas his guest took a more casual position, legs crossed and arms folded, the glass of wine set down on the table.

Now, this man almost always came off as hostile. He was considered almost ruthless in their line of work, not to be approached unless suicidal, and on the hit list, warning any potential assassins to flee if spotted. He was a womanizer, a drinker, and on the outside world, a successful businessman devoted to his church.

He'd always thought that was ironic that a crime lord would attend church of all things. Tyki considered that perhaps he would need that aid from God to be pardoned from his crimes.

In the _underworld,_ Cross Marian was a different type of businessman, running an operation of his own. Trafficking everything from drugs to weapons to humans, there was nothing he couldn't do.

Nothing he couldn't sell.

Nothing he couldn't own.

And there was not a damn person out there who could stop him.

Tyki was just another one of his suppliers, his expertise being in alcohol. As Cross Marian was a known lover of wines, Tyki's position as a supplier was secure with this client. He didn't mind working with this man so long as he wasn't cut short. That didn't mean he wasn't afraid of being offed by him, however. The man was also known for killing those who got in his way.

Which was why he was currently nervous. He didn't want to do anything to anger his client, so having an intimate relationship with his kid was a bold move on his part. His casual facade had put him on edge the moment he realized what it was; a mask of a calm man concealing an inner blood-thirsty rage. He didn't know just how important Allen was to Cross, but he had a feeling that if news of their activity got out, then he one morning he would wake up with a bullet lodged between his eyes.

Cross glanced over his shoulder to the hallway where down the way his charge could be seen with a stack of papers. He must be trying to give his guardian the impression that they really had been dealing with serious business instead of fucking around. Literally.

He was soon out of sight, probably gone to to office to take care of the stack, and shortly after he left their view they heard a door close. Cross turned his attention back to the host, his one eye now glinting dangerously.

Tyki was ready to engage in their conversation with a nervous start while expecting the man to explode at him, but before he could open his mouth to speak, there was a flash and suddenly his guest was up and beside him, gun whipped out and held firmly against the side of his head. Raising his hands above his head slowly, he stood up from his chair for negotiations. In a way he was right about the man exploding.

"Alright, what do you want?" he asked tiredly. This wasn't the first time his client had pulled out his gun on him. All he had to do was bring the conversation to safe grounds and work from there. "Did something happen to the last order you made? Because I swear, I checked the authenticity of the..."

The gun was pressed against his head harder.

"That's not what I wanted to discuss."

Tyki frowned at this.

"Well, that's what I thought you would ask. And I did check the authenticity," he added to the side. "So why are you here and why are you about to kill me?"

A single word came from Cross that Tyki should have expected to hear but didn't.

"Allen."

Tyki bit his bottom lip and slowly shook his head in disbelief.

God damn it.

"What about him?" He pretended not to know anything, told himself that they really had been at work and that they hadn't done anything in that wonderful time they had been together. That he hadn't spotted Allen in the bar while on an errand for Cross to deliver a message. That he hadn't offered Allen one or two or five drinks, that they hadn't stumbled back to this penthouse in a mess, that absolutely nothing had happened during the past seven hours and that there was nothing going on between them.

He came up with excuses, most believable as he prepared himself for questioning. Some were bullshit reasons. Some were just pathetic.

"Don't pretend you don't know."

Cross already was aware of his and Allen's strange relationship. It was actually Cross himself who was to blame for it, as he had been the one to send Allen on an errand to meet up with Tyki, who was drunk and offered Allen one or two drinks because he thought the kid was cute. Well one and two turned into more like ten glasses of wine, Allen ended up completely smashed, Tyki didn't want to leave him alone since that would be cruel, they ended back up at Tyki's place for the first time and_ that_ led to one thing or another.

It went on for an entire month straight until Allen finally became hungover and realized he had a home he needed to return to.

Tyki didn't see Allen for a year after that, but he managed to smuggle in notes back and forth between them. He didn't understand why he, _a grown man,_ was pursuing the company of one much younger than him, but attraction was attraction nonetheless and he had been intrigued.

"Pretend that I know what?" he lied.

_This isn't the time to be a smartass, Tyki._

"Just don't do it again," Cross threatened darkly. The gun was removed and Tyki sighed in relief, turning around to look at his guest. The man was glaring at him, but he always seemed to be glaring anyways. He spoke again. "Stay away from Allen. Don't touch him anymore, don't look at him, don't you dare even speak to him. I don't want any of your Romeo and Juilet bullshit either. Got it?"

The gun was returned to its holster and only then did Tyki agree.

"I do."

Cross sneered at him, shoved him away and said, "Good."

The man abandoned his glass of wine and left the host by himself, storming out of the living room to retrieve the person he'd come for. Tyki could hear the door being opened and Cross informing Allen that they were leaving. When the two were gone, probably forever in Allen's case, Tyki sank into his armchair the moment the front door slammed shut.

Too bad he hadn't told Allen to come back when he was older.

-l'obscurité totale-

A/N: Next chapter should contain a bit more of Allen's perspective/character introduction. Since I don't know what else to say here, I'll leave at this: Cross is a pimp.

*scurries away with troll face*


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

A/N: the POVs in here are going to be weird, by the way. Just a heads up. There are also going to be a lot of hidden meanings, so I would suggest looking something up if you suspect symbolism. Many card references ._. Also, I'm up to chapter sixteen... so you don't have to worry about me not writing. I will only update when I feel like it though. Sorry, I'm just sort of a fickle person.

key:

'when it's like this' - texting  
Italicized - thoughts

-l'obscurité totale-

Allen Walker was a bit of a troublesome person to care for.

Howard Link traveled by the young man's side in his excursion to the city, following close behind in his steps as instructed by his employer. He was annoyed that the man insisted he keep his eye on Allen at all times as though he were a toddler, because in his mind, Allen Walker was an adult in his own right. He was well-mannered, gentle-hearted, aware of his surroundings and responsible not to do anything that would endanger himself. He didn't need to be escorted everywhere.

Ever since an incident involving one of his employer's suppliers, however, that man had ordered he be by Allen's side constantly during his shift. There were two other guards assigned to Allen for different times, but Link had been designated for the daytime shift and the others during the afternoon and night. He didn't remember the names of the other guards; he just knew that one was Japanese and that the other one- the guard for the nighttime shift- was female, a Chinese lady with a day job as a police officer.

He wasn't sure if Allen knew the names of his guards. As far as he knew, the other two had remained in the shadows while their charge believed that he only had one bodyguard. That was probably for the best. Having just one person following him put Allen on edge; he didn't think he would take well to knowing he was under constant surveillance.

Allen stopped in his tracks in front of a bakery, eyeing one of the sweets on display. Link sighed and pulled him inside to buy the treat so they could move on.

"Hello Jerry," Allen politely greeted the man behind the counter. "How is business going?"

"Allen!" the cook cheered, instantly forgetting about his business. "I'm doing wonderful, thank you for asking!"

While Allen started up a conversation with the cook, Link chose to observe their surroundings. There were a few other customers inside but none of them were up to anything suspicious, so Link saw no reason to watch them. The door opened again and inside entered a man with red hair and an eyepatch over his right eye. For a second he believed it was Cross Marian turned younger, but on closer inspection he saw that his eye was green and that the shape of his face was different.

The man, standing out enough as he did, had a familiar air about him. He was minding his own business and got into line behind them, giving the watch on his wrist a hurried glance. Link only placed him as a busy customer and nudged Allen so that he would hurry. He didn't like to hold up lines.

"Oh, sorry," Allen apologized to Jerry. "I forgot that you're on shift. I should probably hurry..." He pointed to the treat he had seen earlier and proceeded to ask for a dozen of said good, while Jerry the cook assured him that he was fine.

"It looks like I'll have to go in the back," he told his favorite customer when he noticed halfway through packing that he didn't have enough. "I'll be back in a moment if that's okay with you."

Allen smiled, "Oh, it's okay. I can wait."

It seemed that the other customer would have to wait after all.

Allen looked behind them to the other man in line, and chose to start up a conversation as Jerry went into the back of the store. "I'm sorry if we're holding you up," he said and tapped the red-haired man on the shoulder. "Are you in a hurry?"

The red-haired stranger blinked and tore his gaze away from whatever text message he was making. "No, I'm not. Just frickin' _cold_, you know?"

It was phrased in a way that allowed a response. This guy is probably a talker, Link thought.

"I heard on the weather channel that it's going to be cold all next week," Allen supplied, now turned around to face the stranger, who already had given Allen his complete attention. "It might snow if we're lucky. I was hoping to go sledding with my friend before the end of the year, but so far it's been kind of yucky outside."

"I would know." The stranger smiled warmly at Allen as though he were a dear friend and stood straight, extending his hand for the other to take. "My name is Lavi and I'm a journalist. I've been out and around trying to get from point A to point B without freezing my ass off. You?"

Link was about to tell Allen not to shake the stranger's hand, but Allen had already gone and done so.

"Well, Lavi, it's nice to meet you! My name is Allen Walker and I'm about to turn seventeen in a few months. I'm home schooled because my guardian doesn't want me around any bad influences or whatever, but I'm hoping to attend a local college to major in either music or language..."

The conversation was cut off by Jerry entering the front again with a new tray. Allen turned away from Lavi briefly and paid for his treat, wished Jerry a good day and paused before leaving.

"It was nice talking to you," he told the older male. His silver eyes twinkled warmly in the soft lighting, and he raised his good hand to wave goodbye. "I hope we can meet up again sometime."

"Me too," Lavi nodded.

That green eye lingered on Allen before Lavi finally looked away to make his own order. Allen tugged on the cuff of Link's coat, and rushed out of the store with the same warm smile on his face. Link glanced back at his charge's new acquaintance, sensing an odd sort of premonition.

He had a feeling that this wasn't the last he would see of that man.

-l'obscurité totale-

The night version of Allen Walker was at a huge contrast with the boy who went around in daylight. Almost as if they were two separate beings, they had different interests and personalities. Different tones, different smiles, hell- even the way he walked about was different. Perhaps the change was due to the mood that came with the time; a ray of sunlight by day, and a shadow of that by night.

Whatever the case, Allen was definitely not being a ray of sunshine right now.

"Raise your arm a little higher."

"Any higher and you'll having me shooting at the bloody ceiling."

"... To the left."

"Shut up."

"Fix your stance."

"Shut. Up."

"You're not focusing."

Allen's head snapped around to glare at his guardian, turning around from his target and forgetting completely about the stance he had been forced to endure much nagging to correct. His fists clenched angrily as he stood on tips of his toes, eyes narrowed at the man who had taken care of him for the past few years. The man, Cross Marian, didn't care though.

The single, intimidating dark eye stared down at him blankly. Cross's face was impassive as his charge raged at him, ignoring the words that Allen was throwing at him, and released a sigh. He placed his hands down on Allen's shoulders, then rotated him around so that he was facing his target again. The young man's anger subsided reluctantly, and he grumbled to himself while he brought his gun back up to resume his shooting.

Just to mess with the boy, Cross knocked his arm away just as he put his finger on the trigger. The bullet hit the wall behind the target instead.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" Allen hissed at him angrily and began to turn back around, but Cross put his hands back down on Allen's shoulders to keep him in place. "You're not focusing, and your stance is weak. Way to go."

In a flash, a foot stomped down on his and Cross stepped away from the angry boy, biting his bottom lip to prevent himself from swearing.

"Hey, I'm making you learn to do it right so you don't fuck up later," he defended himself.

His other foot was promptly and painfully crushed.

"Yeah. I'll remember all of this when I'm trying to kill you."

Cross clutched his throbbing foot and held back all of his insults as he watched his charge carefully return the gun to him, and then begin walking away from their booth. When it was just the two of them like this, Allen turned into this feisty brat who got on his every nerve. But when others were around, he was a complete gentleman. Call one familiarity, call the other manners, but Cross thought it was nothing short of a split personality.

While he put his trusted gun, Judgement, back into its holster, he considered that perhaps this was not because of his upbringing but rather because of what had happened on that day many years ago.

On that day...

A father figure, lost.

An arm, burned to crisp.

A heart, wounded.

A mind, scarred forever.

Forever.

He was no longer in the mood for Allen's behavior.

"Kid, get your ass back over here. We're not done training yet," Cross barked at the figure halfway through the door to outside. The figure paused and glanced over his shoulder, most likely weighing the benefits of staying versus leaving.

"We've been here for the past hour and all you've done is mess around with me," Allen frowned with a sligthly-reddening angry face, "If you don't want to take this seriously, I'm going to leave." That said, the young man left the room and was seen heading towards the front desk.

Scowling, Cross took out the keys to the car and dangled them loud enough for Allen to hear. Silver eyes narrowed back at him, and reluctantly he came back to try and snatch them from him.

"I'm not fooling around, brat." He stuffed the keys into the inner pocket of his jacket and pushed the white-haired idiot away as he tried to steal them. "Now do you want feedback that's actually useful, or do you want to read a '_Gun-Shooting for Dummies_' book by yourself?"

Allen wordlessly took the rental gun from the small shelf provided on the side of each booth, loading it with ammo that they'd bought earlier. Cross noticed how he didn't ask for Judgement, and considered that Allen wasn't in the mood to talk either.

Before they knew it, another hour had passed without them realizing. Allen would prepare to fire, Cross would correct each flaw he found, and the results would be analyzed critically. They were two people working together in that small booth, forgetting about their previous quarrel to move on.

Rough but gentle hands. Soft expressions, the tension faded, and smiles of their own hidden. An almost overbearingly protective guardian very much admired by the child. And that person, a cherished existence considered the dearest and most precious by the owner of the gentle hands that guided him.

On that day many years ago, an indestructible and unparalleled relationship, born.

Instructions were given and followed, the hands adjusting the position in which the gun was held. Close behind the guardian stood, merely inches away, thoughts revolved only around ensuring the other's ability to protect himself if need be.

_"... because soon the rain will come and bring along the thunder and lightning with it."_

Under his breath he says this phrase, and the last of the bullets fire into the given targets. Underneath his hands, Allen's shoulders are still and locked in position. This is an improvement from the beginning of their training session, and Allen doesn't need his support any longer.

Even so, he doesn't remove his hands because should Allen ever falter, he wants to be there to catch him safely. This is his self-designated role as a guardian. Even though it is a difficult role to play, he doesn't complain because he chose this path and is the only one whose feet can fill into the shoes of the parent Allen needs other than the man who is- and has been for a long time- deceased.

They reload the gun and he fixes the ear muffs on the head concentrated on shooting. The user mumbles a quick thanks and continues on with his training.

"_But one day the storm will pass and the sky will clear..."_

Bullseye.

Over time the bullets have slowly come closer to the target they were working towards, and at long last they have reached the center.

_"And together we will see the blue sky again."_

Allen removed his ear protection and set it down on the shelf along with the rental gun. "Did you say something, dad?"

Cross was abruptly torn out of his daze.

"What did you say?"

He could have sworn he heard something odd just then.

"I thought you said something is all." Allen shook his head in dismissal. "I'm going to return the gun now if that's alright with you."

"Go ahead," Cross answered and the white-haired boy excused himself.

He watched as his charge went into lobby, accidentally bumping into a Chinese woman with long black hair tied back into twin ponytails. Allen quickly apologized to her but she only smiled, amused by the stranger's energy. Her amethyst eyes caught Cross's and she nodded at him.

The woman was carrying a bag, presumably containing her own equipment. She passed by Cross to use the booth besides them, and said in a low whisper:

"He called you _'dad'_ in case you were wondering."

Cross stiffened, feeling his eyes widen but was unable to say anything. He had recognized her immediately as on of Allen's bodyguards, but hadn't expected for her to overhear their conversation. Putting that small matter to the side, he glanced at his watch but after taking note of the time, he wondered why the woman was following them. Her shift didn't start until later.

Allen returned moments later, catching his guardian staring at the woman in curiosity. He smirked and tugged at his custodian's jacket, pulling Cross along so that they didn't linger.

Behind them, the Chinese woman began her own session.

"You do know what a femme fatale is, do you," Allen teased lightly as they made it out of hearing's range.

Cross couldn't help but let a snort.

"Don't you dare joke like that," he warned. "I know her, but..."

He trailed off uncertainly.

It occurred to him that Allen wouldn't take well to knowing he had a third bodyguard, two of which were unknown to him.

He awkwardly coughed and cleared his throat. "... but yeah, I suppose she's something like that."

They stood before the glass doors that led out into the down pouring rain. Cross was about to ask his charge if he had everything with him, but when he looked down he saw that Allen's jacket was unfit for outside. He took a glimpse of the darkness that reigned and placed his hand on the cold glass of the door, then his eyes drifted back over to where the white-haired boy stood.

He had been wearing that jacket this entire time, hadn't he. Wasn't that the same tan jacket he had gone out in this morning?

Wordlessly, Cross removed his own jacket and placed it over the boy's shoulders.

"D-da...?"

He cut himself off, confused by the word that had nearly slipped out of his mouth. Cross felt his heart skip a beat when he remembered what the guard had said, his face slightly heating at the thought of Allen using such an affectionate term for him (and unconsciously, too).

"You're allowed to say it," Cross blurted out and turned away. "It's fine, really."

_It sounded so natural when he wasn't aware of it._

"Father," Allen tried to say, frowned, and then averted his eyes to think. "No, I think... dad sounds better."

_Too bad this game won't last forever._

_Too bad..._

"We've never gotten around to formalities I suppose," Cross drawled. The corners of his lips twitched into a sad smile that Allen would never see. "Perhaps I should call you 'son'?" *

_I never thought I would be having this conversation._

"No!" he protested, "just... Allen... okay?"

_At any rate, this world is different from the others._

"Alright."

_Which means I can't let my guard down._

"Won't you need an umbrella?" ... "Dad?"

_No matter how nice this world is, no matter how lucky..._

_It can still all go to hell when the card of spades is drawn into the game._

"No. The car isn't too far away. A little water won't kill me."

_The rain is the least of my worries._

...

"Hey... dad... why exactly are you putting me through this training? Does it have to do with why you've been acting so strangely lately?"

They're inside the car and both soaked. The key is in the ignition and Cross wants nothing more than to back out of his parking space and to drive home. His hands don't reach for the steering wheel and neither does he back out of their parking space, but he starts the engine to warm up the car. The windows fogged around them and Cross decided to wait until visibility before trying to drive.

The unexpected question drew his attention away from the rearview mirror and to his side, where Allen sat almost huddled-up in the passenger seat. He offered to return his custodian's jacket, but Cross refused since he knew that his charge needs it more than he does. Allen appears too pale for comfort, and Cross would rather he be the first to heat up. He made a mental note to check for a fever later when they got home.

In his worrying, his hand, the one that is rough but gentle the same, reaches up to touch skin that is alarmingly cold. It reminds him of many bad things, things that he would rather push to the back of his mind and forever forget. He brushes away the drops of water clinging to the cold face and wonders what exactly the other is thinking.

As does the boy.

"Dad?"

_I can't tell him anything._

_There is no one who can._

He was prepared to give some nonsense answer when the buzzing of a phone prevented him from replying. He checked his pocket to see if it was him, but the screen was blank and he hadn't missed any calls or messages. That was stupid of him. If it was him, then he would have felt it.

It turned out to be Allen's phone, kept in Cross's jacket's pocket for safekeeping.

"You should answer that," Cross advised and fished the device out for his charge. "It might be important."

Allen took his phone gratefully and pressed the call button to answer.

"Hello?"

Cross was going to ignore the conversation, but the next few words caught his attention in a bad way.

"Oh. It's you again."

It was said in a way that suggested this person was nothing short of a nuisance.

"How did you get my number?"

Meaning there was no intention of giving it to this douchebag on the other end.

Cross reached out to take the phone and tell this insufferable prick to stop bothering Allen right this moment. The white-haired boy looked up to Cross and held up his hand to tell him to wait as he listened to the speaker.

He seemed angry.

"Look, I'm going to have to ask you to stop calling me... What? No!... It's nothing personal... I don't even know how you know me... It's _creepy_."

Cross growled and snatched the phone away.

Enough if this horseshit.

"Who the fuck is this."

It was a demand and nothing less.

But Cross was met with a beeping sound that told him the caller had dropped the line the moment Allen ceased speaking. He took the phone away from his ear and sneered, tempted to chuck the device through the glass of his windshield and out into the pouring rain.

As he contemplated the notion, the phone buzzed again but this time with a message.

_'I am the First.'_

What a bullshit answer.

Assuming he could text a response, Cross's fingers punched in the letters of his own message angrily, feeling as though the sheer force might break the keyboard.

_'Leave Allen alone'_

That message was completely disregarded by the anonymous caller.

_'He will fall to the Noir.'_

Cross could feel his face drain of color at the mention of the Noir, something he prayed Allen wouldn't understand. He deleted the message from the phone's history in case he got curious and tried to see what his guardian was getting so worked up about. The kid was looking at him curiously but Cross refused to let him see the message.

If only I could tell him.

_'What's your name'_

...

_'Tell the kid I'm going to find him.'_

...

_'I will find him.'_

...

_'Allen.'_

_..._

_'I love you, Allen.'_

Wordlessly, Cross deleted the entire conversation from the phone and watched the screen go black. He grit his teeth, using all of his self-control to hold back his rage that began to boil under his skin. He knew exactly who had been on the other end now. He should have realized, what with Allen's worried expression and reluctance to speak. He should have known, because this was how it started in the other worlds.

The Ace of Spades was always the last to come.

He was the initiator, and the cause of tragedies.

Another player in this game, just like him, a player he had sworn to eliminate no matter what the cost.

"Dad? What's wrong?"

_Sweet, innocent, oblivious Allen._

_Even in the darkness, you lean towards your other self._

"... Nothing."

_Such a troublesome child._

_No one to tell the poor lamb of its impending doom._

"Okay, dad."

_What a pitiful lamb._

-l'obscurité totale-

* "Perhaps I should call you 'son'"? - Cross. This part made me tear up and want to scream. You'll understand why this moment is so emotional later in the story, and why it's such a big deal (and ironic) for him to say that.

A/N: This is where the alternate universes begin to kick in. I promise to explain why this is "multiple AU' in the future, but you're not going to get it all immediately. Information will be given through various characters so I would recommend paying close attention to both dialogue and author notes.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Awakening of the Tragedy

A/N: I would suggest you write down the phone number the same way Allen does. Or on the computer. You'll need red and black colors to write with. It's just about the biggest hint I'm going to drop here. SYMBOLISM FTW }:D

On another note, I'm not looking forward to going back to school. I guess it's because of Geometry. I preferred Algebra where it was all _"one times a number is itself_" and "_divide_" and "_multiply this, and that, and that too!_" and then "just _add_ the frickin' rest." You then end up with four answers that make no f**king sense but at least they're right. But Geometry? I suck at Geometry ._.

First part is a flashback. (Feeling generous today)

-l'obscurité totale-

-unknown time-

"_This is all your fault..."_

_All of his hatred._

_All of his anger._

_Every ounce of it all directed towards the boy of monochrome, whose body laid still on the checkerboard floor stained by a deep red that he hated. In his hands was his ever-present gun, which had dropped to the tainted marble below. Black, white, gray or silver; it didn't matter what color this room was, because the red was spreading everywhere and without restraint. The face of the dying one was strangely at peace, even as his life flowed out with his blood. After receiving several rounds to vital areas, perhaps he could no longer feel the pain that whatever was left of him should be suffering through. _

_Or perhaps the boy was so accustomed to the pain that by now that pain was welcomed. Perhaps the pain kept him alive, and gave him a reason to go on in his otherwise meaningless existence. It's sad to think that a person could go about life as such, but Cross Marian of this time was a heartless man and couldn't give a good goddamn about those things. He will acknowledge them, yes, but he will not blink or so much as allow himself to pity another human being. To pity is to look down at someone, and treat them as inferior. _

_And the boy of red is definitely not inferior to him. It's true that he harbors a deep hatred for this boy and took him in because of his connection to Mana. It was not because he wanted the child around, but Allen had been very dear to Mana. Cross had been asked by an associate to watch over that man, and by an extension Allen. Since he had failed to watch over Mana, he figured that the very least he could do was hide the child from the one responsible for that man's murder. He was doing this out of obligation; not because he wanted to._

_Against his better judgment, he made this very clear in the time that the boy had come to stay with him. He had known of the effects his treatment on his charge, and that he was doing more harm than good. There was not a single person in the world who would agree or approve with what he has done, including himself. A part of him regrets what he has allowed to happen, but what's done is done. It can't be changed._

_He can't do anything about these bullet holes either._

"_Cross," comes the tired voice. Silver eyes are dull and rapidly losing their shine. He's about to lose this person forever, but like so many others, Cross can't bring himself to care anymore._

_He kneels down beside the body, nearly stumbling because of the alcohol from earlier. He is far beyond intoxicated, which is obvious as the red and monochrome scheme blurs into incomprehensible shapes like random colors slapped onto a canvas and smeared in an attempt to create something decent. This is far from decent; he doesn't even know if he's looking into the boy's eyes. _

"_Cross," repeats the voice. "I... "_

_But he does know that this person is absolutely here, as a dying human being. _

_He doesn't know anything else about Allen Walker._

_That was one of his biggest regrets. He should have at least gotten to know this boy, if only just a little. _

"_I curse you, Cross Marian."_

_Had he at that time, then maybe he would have understood why the very reality he knew was torn apart and shredded to pieces with these words._

-l'obscurité totale-

The apartment is small and pitch-black, the single inhabitant stirring from his troubled sleep. The covers over his bed were strewn about in a sloppy manner, the room itself a complete mess and with anyone able to tell even in the darkness. His mind is foggy and he can't recall what he had done the other night, but he forgets that he cares as he comes to.

A single eye opens and the man groans. His hand gropes around on the nightstand for the lamp. He rises in bed and turns it on, revealing many details about his room and very self.

"Son of a..." his swear trails off in a mumble, kicking his covers off of him completely to get out.

His red hair is just as messy as his room. Thankfully it is short and manageable, for he runs a hand through it a couple times and instantly it goes down to something less of a wreck. Rushing to get out of bed, he chose against going to the bathroom first and scrambled to reach his desk nearby instead.

On top of the desk is an article that is very important to this man.

Now, what is the name of this mysterious man?

A name is written in black on the inside of the journal. The information labels on the back of the cover in case of loss are half-filled and what is there has been quickly scribbled in. Only a name is legible at the very top, written in dark bold letters of his own handwriting that read: Lavi.

There's no last name. At the top of the information page are numbers from one to fifty-two. Every number up until forty-nine is scratched out, which causes the owner of the journal a bit of distress.

Flipping to the last entry, he skims over the last of the text.

_Dead end._

_Suicide._

"Shit," he swears under his breath.

He forgets about the journal quickly and takes a glance at the calendar. First the year, then the month, and the date.

20XX, January 18th. Full moon tonight, nothing scheduled in particular.

At least it's a lot more time than the last game. The date came as a surprise to him, since the normal time he had was usually limited to was four months. In every world he had woken up on the 12th of October, opening his eyes to see the grave of his old man.

This time, he had about a year- maybe even more if he was lucky- to act.

He pressed his forehead against the cold wall as he forced himself to calm down. For a few moments he thought the allotted time for him may have been reduced to say, three or two weeks, but he had a whole damn year to do this now. He could relax for a while.

He pushed away from the wall to look for his other journal. He was in a time that he wasn't used to, and he figured he may as well get accustomed to this place. Did he have a job? Was the Old Panda still alive? Had he met _him_ yet?

Never before had he thought something so simple as a journal would come in handy. When the Old Panda had been alive, he had insisted that Lavi record every day for him to refer to later on. Perhaps he had known what was to come, but whatever the reason, he was thankful for his persistence.

His other journal was nearly identical to the one provided to him by the game, and sitting right beside its counterpart. It had the same pattern of hearts, spades, clubs, and diamonds. The only difference between the two was that his personal journal had a large red heart on the very center whereas his other had spades.

Sometimes he wrote in the red journal just for fun. When he was younger, he'd received it as a present just before leaving to come here. That was also how he'd gotten the other one, but he couldn't remember who exactly had given it to him. It'd been someone from the college he'd studied at. He was pretty sure it was one of his professors, but he couldn't be a hundred percent sure on that.

Not that the origins of these things mattered. They must have only come with him across each game because he was attached to them.

Reading over the past few entries, he was surprised to find that he had indeed met the boy with shock white hair. According to his entry, they had met at a little bakery and he had felt "flushed" when talking to him.

"Just what kind of mushy crap was I into?" he winced at his own writing and promptly shut the journal. "I can't believe I was like that back then..."

_At any rate, I need to find him._

_..._

_"I'll be waiting for you."_

An image flashed in his head, of black and red and white. Lavi groaned and tried to block it out, but the memory was nagging at him for him to remember it.

_I need to find him._

The sound of his phone ringing drew him out of his thoughts and over to the nightstand. He assumed it was work-related since he hadn't made many friends since arriving in the city.

True to his prediction, it was a call from his boss. He answered the call while wondering what she wanted.

"Hello?"

"Lavi, I need you to go somewhere for me. It's about the recent string of murders."

"... Alright. Where to?"

_I need to find him!_

He ended the call after memorizing the address, taking his phone with him into the bathroom incase his boss called him back. This was an important case to him, one he couldn't screw up on. Not just because his boss constantly bitched about him getting to each scene on time, but because of its relevance to the game.

Before he dared to go out, he left his room, stepping over the haphazard pile of reports and other literature to get to his door. He made it out without tripping over everything, but he made a mental note to clean it all up by the end of the day.

His bathroom wasn't the best but it was better than most of the other ones he'd seen. To the left, a shower cubicle stood in the corner with the cabinet for toiletries on the wall beside it. A small, rectangular window was installed into the wall high up to let in sunlight without him having to worry about anyone doing anything stupid- like trying to break in- and was directly across from him where he stood in the doorway.

On his right was a simple sink and a garbage can, and then a hamper for dirty clothes and towels. The floor was tiled and cold, with a drain in the center of the room for excess water.

Basic, just like the rest of his apartment. There was nothing special about it; it was what he could afford and he didn't want to both investing in any of that fancy crap.

While he was sure he had more time in this game than he'd had in the others, he didn't want to become attached to anything. Besides, this was an apartment; he'd have to pay to have it all returned to its original state if he added anything.

He grabbed a white towel from the cabinet and placed it on top of the hamper, stripping off his whatever clothes he'd fallen asleep in and tossed them to the side to lie on the floor. That was a bad habit of his that may or may not be the reason his living space was a mess.

The water was cold but he didn't mind. He hated the warmth and all sorts of light; it was all just one big eyesore he would be glad to be rid of. Having one eye straining to see everything all of the time was enough to deal with, and since the sunlight brought warmth, he learned to like the cold.

Yes, he preferred the cold and lack of sunlight; nothing wrong with having preferences.

As he was in a hurry he made his shower short. He wasn't covered in grime, but he wanted to look decent before heading out. A brief shower was enough for him. That in mind, he turned off the water and stepped back out, reaching for the towel on the top of the hamper.

_"He reaches for the towel just outside, steam following him as he opens the glass door that has fogged up over the past few minutes. He wraps it around his waist and his feet tap lightly against the marble tiling as he exited the room to look for his partner of the past few months. The man isn't there, rather, he's down the hall watching the television. The bed is made, his clothes are folded, and the younger male knows he should confront his complete flirt of a boyfriend at that point..."_

_That_ was part of his creative writing that he'd discovered inside the red journal. He must have written it out of boredom, thinking up a random story that would never be completed.

Again, what the hell was up with his mushy crap?

Lavi's mind was preoccupied as he exited the bathroom. He had been in such a rush that he hadn't even took the time to turn on the lights in his own bathroom while he was using it, leaving his entire apartment still in darkness. He re-entered his room, stepping over everything in search of clothes.

The dim light coming from his lamp was enough for him to see where he was going, but after finding his closet and putting on his clothes, he felt a strange urge to turn it off.

So he did.

He was an impulsive man with odd preferences, but that didn't matter.

In this game, nothing mattered so long as he didn't screw up.

The journals, the cards, the labels, the time...

None of that mattered to him.

The only thing that mattered was that he win this goddamn game and find that happy ending.

-l'obscurité totale-

_I didn't expect the killer to show up this early._

Lavi stood by the scene that was just gaining attention by the media, trying to push past the crowd to get within hearing range of the police. He didn't expect to have any of his questions answered, but if he could get a few details on his own, that would be just as good as any interview.

It was a shame that the crowd wouldn't shut the hell up.

Surrounding the scene and blocked off by the police was a crowd of reporters and passing-by citizens. The whole case was angering the community, with this having been the sixth murder in the past year.

"... unidentified..."

"... blond hair..."

"... carving. The number one. Same guy, you think?..."

"-poor kid. How old do you think he was?..."

"... apparently kidnapped from home three days ago. Scary..."

"... been considering moving out of the neighborhood. My son could be next!"

"... around three. We'll have to take him to the morgue."

_There's nothing more I can learn here._

It was obvious who the serial killer was targeting. He'd been present in each game thus far and had even at times gotten to his target, all because he failed as a reporter to alert the public. Which was why he was devoted to his job and wouldn't dare slack off.

Having been stuck in the same world as the killer, of course he had confronted him. But that was once, in their initial world, and even the details on that were sketchy. That was where it had all started, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember who it was or what their motive was other than a sick obsession.

Until he remembered that crucial detail, he went with the nickname the public had dubbed the killer.

"The First."

Even if he couldn't get anything more out of this scene without doing any questioning, he was required to write a story on this. It was alright for it to be a short article anyways; he and his coworkers felt it would be disrespectful of them to pry for details on the victims.

He jotted down a couple of quick notes and got out of the crowd as fast as he could. He hated small spaces but it was something he was forced to deal with.

Above them the sky was gray, fitting for this kind of atmosphere. Lavi felt that it would have been inappropriate for the sun show itself at this kind of brutal murder.

_But if the sun should hide behind the clouds at every murder, then shouldn't the sky be constantly gray?_

_In this world, there are approximately a thousand murders each day._

_Then if the sun should hide itself, the world would never see sunlight again._

_What makes today an exception?_

"Lavi!"

_I forgot._

_"_Ah, sorry if you don't remember me! My name is Allen Walker if you've..."

"No, I haven't forgotten. We met at the bakery the other day."

_Today is an exception because..._

The face before him is pale, silver eyes tired and wearing weak smile. White hair stands out on his head, the red scar going down the left side of his face, like a blood-colored tear-shaped diamond of paint trailing down an unpainted canvas. Then, as if the artist had gotten bored, he must have used his brush to streak a jagged line halfway through the line.

Lavi wouldn't lie about being fascinated with that scar. It was oddly fitting for him.

They were standing far away from the scene of crime. He figured he must have wandered off with all of his thinking, and while he would say that was a bad thing, it wasn't so bad considering who he had found.

If only he had found him _alone_.

Beside Allen stood a man who looked as though he could be the older version of Lavi. Hair tied slicked back neatly, wearing the suit of a businessman. This was the man Lavi knew to be Cross Marian. They hadn't had pleasant encounters in the past worlds, though as time passed Cross seemed to no longer care about anything or anyone other than his charge. As non-players of this "game" never changed, Lavi toyed with the idea that Cross could be another player in the game.

It was possible; the man was close to Allen, and he had evolved from a cold-hearted man to something different. He definitely hadn't cared about Allen in the initial worlds, but his character became more and more protective towards Allen every time, whereas the relationships Allen had with other non-players always remained the same. However, Lavi had no way of confirming Cross's player status. He could only speculate.

Ignoring the man lurking behind Allen for now, he chose to strike up a conversation with the very person this game was centered around.

"So what are you doing out here? Are you going anywhere?"

Allen smiled politely, looked over at his guardian to the side and then back to Lavi. "We've just got out of church. Father Komui was preaching again." His smile grew brighter and his face almost seemed to glow as if thinking of an inside joke. "_And thus the lord said: thou shalt not touch my precious Lenaleeeeeeee!" _ Cross looked away from them immediately and elbowed Allen's side, wanting to move on. Allen only laughed. "Never mind that. You should have heard him going over what he wanted to say in his rehearsal. All of this nonsense about leading the crowd the wrong way..."

The scene became brighter, the clouds allowing forbidden sunlight to trespass into a world that should have been gray. Allen's face is no longer a sickly pale; rather, fair and tinted a light red with happiness.

It was blinding.

"How about you? Are you... doing anything?"

"I have an article that I need to write, but it shouldn't take up too much time. We can hang out if you want to... later," Lavi offered.

"Okay. I'll be waiting."

Everything but Allen in that moment seemed to come to a stop at his last words. The world froze, the time broken, and everything flipped around.

_"I'll be waiting."_

_"_Oh! I should probably give you my number first," Allen blushed in embarrassment. He tapped his guardian's shoulder and the man reluctantly handed over the phone. "Can I add you?"

_How can I say no to that face?_

"Sure. My number is..."

...

"One..."

"Oh, hold on. My pen isn't working."

"I have a red pen, here."

"Argh, I hate continuing writing in different colors. I'd rather write in black."

"I know what you mean."

"What's next?"

"Okay ... forty-two... five..."

"Alright..."

"Then fifty-one, two..."

"You could just say each number by itself!"

"Eh? I dunno. Okay, a zero... six and zero... and four."

...

"Weird. That almost reminds me of something."

"The number?"

"Mmm."

Allen's eyes seem far away, but he looks into Lavi's one good eye and smiles again. The number saved into the phone blinked on the screen and Cross, not caring about his charge's social life, took the phone and put it back in his pocket. Allen scowled at his guardian but then remembered Lavi was there.

"Sometimes I think the same thing. Almost like it's supposed to mean something, you know?"

"Allen," Cross cut in abruptly, "we have to go."

Allen pouted and nearly said something back, but paper slipped out of the sleeves to drop to the ground. Lavi glanced at them; they were playing cards, probably meant for cheating. Cross figured that out quickly, judging from the way he froze up when he saw what they were.

An ace of spades, a king of hearts, king of diamonds, and the jack of diamonds. Allen crouched down to pick them up, but frowned at the card of hearts, squinting his eyes and using two of his fingers to pick at the side. He shrugged and collected them anyways, integrating the cards back into their deck.

"It looks like it got stuck to the spades card," he sighed, "I hate it when these things do that."

Lavi crouched helped Allen stand back up, "Let me see. Did they get glued or something?"

He took the hearts card out of the deck from Allen's hands and inspected the thin playing card. They were fairly easy to separate; but one had to be careful with cards as marking them took next to no effort. He would suggest Allen get a new deck instead of dealing with this.

Beneath the king of hearts was the king of spades. The kings had most likely been put together for some sort of cheating strategy; he didn't know that much about cards but he guessed it would be an advantage to have high-ranking cards near to each other. He didn't give the two a single glance as he handed them back to their owner.

"We could play a game llater if you want," he offered when Allen re-pocketed his cheating cards. Cross had shaken himself out of his shock at last and now appeared just angry, but waited for the two to finish instead of letting the world know how he felt about Allen's trick cards.

"Sure!" Allen chirped. "I'll text you around... what time would be okay?"

"How about at three."

"In the morning?"

Cross elbowed Allen in the side yet another time for the implication. The white-haired boy muffled a laugh behind his hand and Lavi couldn't help but snicker himself. But even Cross seemed to be amused by the innuendo, so Lavi felt no guilt in laughing a little louder.

"I don't think your guardian would like that."

"Mm, I don't think so either."

Not wanting to stick around any longer, Cross grabbed Allen's hand (Lavi noticed how it was the very same hand that the cards had fallen from) and pulled him along. The young man complained to his guardian about wanting to talk a little longer, but after seeing that the man wasn't going to stop, he waved goodbye to his friend behind them.

Lavi stood there watching after the pair, unknowingly waving back.

_Three o'clock it is, then._

_That means I have about eight hours to get that article done._

_"_I better get to it."

The journalist continued on his way, already thinking of what he wanted to write for the article. Something brief, something with satisfying details, something appropriate for the mood... something... dark.

_No way to celebrate the beginning of a new game but by getting to work straight away._

-l'obscurité totale-

A/N: Lavviiiii! I was so excited to write his character :) I really hope I got most of his character okay. Oh, and one of you mentioned Cross being a little OOC. Yes there's a reason for that, but you will see his original character slip out from time to time.

Your first question should be "how come Lavi entered last?" or something along those lines. You should also think over the hint.


End file.
